The Dreams of Nightmares
by lefteyebrowraised
Summary: We all have dreams, and we all have nightmares. But did you know that nightmares can also have dreams? I submitted this as a draft of my english coursework, my teacher liked it but when it comes to my final decision I would lreally love to have some more outside opinions! Lots of love, Lefteyebrowraised.


The dreams of nightmares.

Fear is a powerful thing. Don't underestimate it. When a child is scared, truly scared; when their whole being is concentrated into one single emotion, one thought, that's when the fear becomes dangerous. That concentration of such a potent emotion becomes a power source. We are the receivers of that power. We are those things that go bump in the night, the monsters under your bed, and those strange shadows on the wall. We are your nightmares. The fear that feeds into us will give us life for a few hours. We'll rise out from deepest recesses of your imagination to your world then escape into the night.

_I am the stuff of nightmares._

_I am the ruler of a faraway kingdom. I have attempted to murder my step daughter four times out of vanity. Four times I left her dying in the forest. As my punishment I had to dance in burning iron shoes till I dropped down dead. And all I wanted was to be the fairest in the land._

_I am Snow White's Step Mother. _

It's a bit of an occasion for us fairy tale Villains to get called into the real world these days. The new generation that has grown up with evil characters such as the power hungry Voldemort, or scheming bald witches with square feet, has much higher expectations of a truly diabolical Villain. So it's always nice to know that one has been able to exploit the deepest, darkest fears of innocents to a good extent. It makes one feel like you've done your job properly. When they get called out, some less experienced Villains prefer to spend their few hours experiencing the kind of free will that is never available to us inside our stories, to work for a charity or visit a library. Personally I always head for the bars. No version of my story had involved alcohol and especially never young, attractive single men whose preference in the opposite sex wasn't entirely centred on shoe size, so I generally treat myself to a bit of harmless flirting and a fatally strong martini or two. When one's workload involves the duties of Queen, Evil Stepmother and Wicked Witch, one really does need that night off every once in a while.

The combined imaginations of millions of children (and a substantial input from Disney) has furnished me with haughty good looks and a bone structure to die for. I was the second fairest in the land for a reason, so it seems such a waste not to put them to good use. Perfectly content with sipping on whatever excuse for a martini one has been presented with and breathing in a heady mixture of cigarette smoke and cheap colonge, I'll perch on that barstool for hours. But when the clock strikes midnight and I get bored of listening to whichever half drunk dimwit I had chosen as my prey that night repeatedly slurring to me that I lookedprecisely like someone he had once seen in an animated film, I'll take myself off for a bit of late night shopping. Even fictional Villains need a bit of retail therapy from time to time. It doesn't matter that I can't pay for anything, I'm sure that the police can't accuse anyone of anything if they don't technically exist. And even if they can, I'm sure that they won't refuse an apple if offered.

Inside one's story, the sense of reality is somewhat disjointed. One can act the tale, be the tale, but still feel like you're not really there at all, just a figment of a terrified child's imagination. That's why our callings to the real world are so important. For just those few, precious hours, we can finally feel absolutely, wholly, definitely real. But it's only ever for a few hours. Knowing that you'll never get a headache from those martinis, or come to trial for that shoplifting can take the kick out of it all a bit. And then there's always post-calling depression, the morning after the night before when one almost welcomes the burning iron slippers just to bring a bit of feeling into your life. Because my life inside my story is just that, feelingless. I've never had any free will, personality away from the one I'm given or felt anything other than hatred. When we are called out we can make our own decisions, create our own personalities and fall in love. Only for a couple of hours. On some occasions I wish that I had never been called out. That feeling always disappears with my first martini.

This treat or punishment, call it what you will, is only ever bestowed upon the Villains of stories. The only characters strong and memorable enough to be capable of conjuring up enough emotion to pull us from the depths of the imagination. We alone are given this tantalising glimpse into the world we provide entertainment for, this chance to dream of a better place. And that's what no one ever thinks about or realises. We may be cruel, heartless, villainous nightmares, but even nightmares can dream.


End file.
